I have just relinquished my Specified Ministry status. As of now I’m no longer a youth worker, and no longer considered to be in a ministry in the Uniting Church. It’s not a significant change – most people who read this probably won’t have ever known I was – but it is a moment to be marked.

The decision itself [to resign from the ministry] was a moment of great liberation, and not one I thought about much. Most of my life-changing decisions are made on a whim, and this one was no different. It’s been a long time since I recognised myself in the status, and I haven’t, for years looked for the support or structure it offered. It had become a convenience more than anything. But I was increasingly bemused that conversations within the christian community about my faith or spirituality – particularly conversations that began after people read posts here, or articles I wrote for the paper – would inevitably be focussed around the question, ’so how can you believe what you believe and be in a specified ministry?’, not ‘tell me more about how you’ve come to this point in your life’… I’m only interested in the latter question; the first question defines me by something I’m not.

Long story short, someone was making life particularly difficult for me one day, by demanding things of my faith that it couldn’t give; I woke up next morning and thought, ‘this is not a battle i need to win, and it’s not a battle I should win’, and it seems the decision had already made itself. The sense of liberation was unexpected and delightful.

The moment of actual resignation was somewhat more anticlimactic. I wrote a letter to my presbytery. They emailed back to tell me that they used to have me on the roll, but they’d handed me over to another presbytery. When we contacted the other presbytery, they actually had never had me on their rolls. I was nowhere. I couldn’t resign because there was no-one to resign to. My great moment of relinquishment had in fact been pre-empted. It was pretty hilarious, and a lovely irony which makes me very happy.

I love working with an organisation that demands nothing of me but integrity, and forgives me when i fail that.

–

The reality of being in management hasn’t come easily to me. I’ve been stumbling into this role over the last few months. But even if I don’t know know what to do, at times, I’ve got to the point where I now know what’s important; what I can trust myself to deal with, what I can let go. It’s a good place to be.

Pádraig, on his recent visit, redeemed the idea of management in what was one of my hardest weeks. We were talking about the concept of curation, and he said ‘your management style is about curating space for people to work at their best’. Put like that, why would anyone want to do anything else?

We are delighted to be running this workshop with the remarkable Pádraig Ó Tuama. It’s designed for those working in community development, transformation and justice. Hope you can come. It’s on March 27 and online registrations are here, for more information, download this pdf: stealingstories workshop.

We do not tell stories as they are, we tell them as we are
Anaïs Nin

There is a growing awareness of the power of storytelling as a means for community development, advocacy and transformation. This workshop will explore a number of resources developed by the Irish Peace Centres and the Corrymeela Community in Northern Ireland – resources looking at storytelling, conflict, revenge, safety and forgiveness. A number of resources will be presented during the day, which practitioners in Melbourne will be very welcome to take (steal) and adapt to local neighbourhood and community needs.

Pádraig Ó Tuama is a poet and community development practitioner who works primarily in developing and delivering resources to community groups, faith communities and schools in Belfast.

The workshop is on March 27, 9.30 – 4pm at Solace, 751 Heidelberg Road, Alphington. Register online

I was cleaning out my office the other day, and I found the box of crumpled wedding dresses that has been hiding in the corner under my desk. Three years ago we nearly did a basement space for Valentines Day. We’ve mentioned this often on here. But there was a fire, and the basement space team were either fighting the fires, or watching in horror; and musings on love and its absence became luxury in the face of such overwhelming destruction… we did a fire space instead, and the Valentines Day space was relegated to boxes under my desk.

Wedding dresses
wedding dresses, markers, scissors, needles, threat, fishing line
the opshop poem on the wall
[words: frayed]

‘an opshop of wedding dresses’
[the collective noun for the ghosts of dreams failed]

raw silk
hand-sewn with promises
and embroidered with unrealistic expectations

vows that came dressed in virginal white,
now indelibly stained with wine and sweat
betrayal and disappointment
failure and pain.

floor length hems and six-foot trains,
held up to protect against the world’s unwashed floor,
until they got too heavy to carry,
now marked with grime and dirt.

the safety pin that holds the sleeve in place;
after all, it only has to last one night.

written onto dresses:

dress 1 – ripped dress, fishing wire to suspend from ceiling, needles and thread:
sew the other loves into the dress
the ones that aren’t always recognised
as life-making
life-saving

the loves that have the power
to mend the frayed edges of your life
and the torn heart of the world.

dress 2 – dress, fishing wire to suspend from ceiling, scissors:
cut a piece of fabric from the dress

take it with you
to pray for those who do not know love
or for the love you no longer know yourself

dress 3 – dress, fishing wire to suspend from ceiling, markers:
write the fear you carry
- of loves limits
and hopes end

Mills and Boon
bookcase of M&B’s [I have a box of these in my office as well if anyone wants them...]

Table with books of different Mills and Boon ‘genres’, post-its marking different turning points in the book [eg the argument which is always found on page 86 of a M&B book], the writers guidelines for each genre [found on M&B website] framed above the bookcase

Love – of any form – never comes with template
and can’t be written to a formula.

so here is a place for you to write the story of love
that doesn’t fit the rules
and can’t be defined by genre.

Valentines day dinner table, set for 1
table, cloth, setting, candle, matches, champagne poured for each person

Sometimes the loneliest you can be is with another person
and sometimes being alone is more than enough.

How is it for you, today?

If you would like, light the candle
When you leave, blow it out.

Hanging out the dirty washing
clothesline, pegs, lingerie from op shop
clothes [towels, whatever] to be partially obscuring bits of the line so people have the option of privacy

We’ve all got it.
The mistake, the regret,

the time we could have, but didn’t,
the time we shouldn’t, but did

We’d rather not mention them in public
[don't hang out your dirty washing, and keep your smalls inside!]

But here’s a place to acknowledge
that you are as human
and flawed
and real
as the rest of us

Here you can hang your dirty washing on the line.

Mirror, mirror
mirror, red lipstick, lipstick kisses on mirror

If it’s cynicism that holds you back;
disbelief that it could ever happen to you,
that you simply don’t deserve it,
or that you don’t have what it takes to make it work -

let yourself believe here
just for this moment
that you can.

Betray your fear, with a kiss…

Photos / slides – grief
photos stuck on wall – in frames – next to it, a couple of shattered frames on the floor, photos outside of frames, a shoebox of photos; the following words framed:

I set an extra place for you at the table tonight
and then i remembered you won’t be coming

I should be over you by now.

but everywhere i am
the ghost of you lives too

it’s the smell of your laundry detergent
the cup you always used
your number in my mobile phone

and the sound of a key
in the door
that should be you

rip the absence of love into a photo
and stick it here to the wall…